


As Real as Anything

by sahiya



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, But more like a rumination on the multiverse, Don't copy to another site, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Sleepy Cuddles, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 15:11:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18625780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: “If you’re calling to ramble tipsily at me about something you dreamed up with Ted, I’m going to hang up on you,” Tony mumbled into his pillow without bothering to do anything so pedestrian as pick up his phone. This was what he had an AI for.The sound he got in response made him shoot up in his bed. It was a sob, but not only a sob. It was a gut-wrenching, bone-deep, sob of despair,and it was coming from his kid. “Tony,” was the only word he could make out. And then again, “Tony, Tony,Tony.”





	As Real as Anything

**Author's Note:**

> So, here's the thing, friends. I haven't seen _Endgame_. If I do, it won't be for several weeks, because it doesn't look like that much fun to me, even though I hear it was a good movie. But I'm obvious super spoiled at this point (deliberately), and I did feel the need to reckon with it in some way. This isn't quite a fix-it, but writing it made me feel better, and I hope it helps you, too, if you're struggling with everything. It's not part of my Irondad universe, though I guess it could easily exist adjacent to it.

Tony had gone to bed at one in the morning and it had taken him his usual forty-five minutes to fall asleep. When the phone rang at just after three, he wasn’t immediately pleased. The fact that it was Peter calling made it only slightly less annoying. 

“If you’re calling to ramble tipsily at me about something you dreamed up with Ted, I’m going to hang up on you,” he mumbled into his pillow without bothering to do anything so pedestrian as pick up his phone. This was what he had an AI for. 

The sound he got in response made him shoot up in his bed. It was a sob, but not only a sob. It was a gut-wrenching, bone-deep, sob of despair, _and it was coming from his kid_. “Tony,” was the only word he could make out. And then again, “Tony, Tony, _Tony_.”

“I’m here, kid, what the hell is going on?” Tony asked, already getting out of bed, his heart pounding as though he’d been running. Pepper was in––where the fuck was Pepper? For a second Tony honestly couldn’t remember. Montreal. Pepper was in Montreal. He didn’t know whether to be glad she wasn’t there to be woken up or wish that she were, so that she could help, because something was clearly very wrong. 

The kid was crying too hard to answer in any way that Tony could understand, but two words stuck out: his name and _dead_. And then, more horrifyingly, _six nights_. 

“I’m not dead,” Tony said, shoving his wallet in the back of his jeans. “I swear to you, I’m not dead. And are you telling me you’ve been having nightmares about me dying for six nights?”

“Everytime I close my eyes,” Peter hiccuped. He broke into fresh sobs. “I’m so tired, Tony. I’m so tired. I can’t––I can’t––”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony muttered. “I’m on my way, kid, okay? You and I timed it door-to-door, it’s forty-minutes with Iron Man Express.” Thank God for stealth mode. He’d never really seen the point before––if he’d wanted to be stealthy, the suit wouldn’t have been red and gold for God’s sake––but he couldn’t be seen going to and from the MIT campus as often as he did. 

The suit expanded from the nanobot casing to enfold him as he stepped onto the balcony outside his living room and launched into the night sky. It was just fading to the faintest gold at the horizon, but true dawn was a few hours away. Tony muted himself briefly so that Peter couldn’t hear him. “Engage Care Package Protocol, FRIDAY,” he said. “Talk to Karen and get Peter’s vitals, and whatever you do, keep Peter on the line.”

“Yes, boss.” FRIDAY went silent for a beat. Peter had gone quiet, no longer out-right sobbing, but Tony could still hear his hitching breath, the way he gasped for air every few seconds. If anything it was worse. Sobbing was at least a cry for comfort. This sounded like desolation. 

“Peter is in moderate physical distress,” FRIDAY finally said. “His heart rate is exceeding a hundred and thirty beats per minute. He has slept only fourteen hours in six days.”

No wonder the kid was a mess. Tony unmuted himself. “I’m in the air, Peter. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Peter swallowed noisily. He was congested when he spoke, and his voice shook all over the place, but he sounded better than he had. “I keep having a dream about you dying. Everytime I close my eyes. There's this massive battlefield, it looks––it looks kind of like the compound? But it's a disaster zone. And you die. And I can’t do anything about it. It’s like it happens for the first time every time, and then I wake up.”

“It’s just a dream, Pete.”

“It doesn’t feel like a dream. It feels so fucking real. And I _remember_ it. What if it’s my spidey sense?”

“Don’t call it that, kid.”

“But what if it is? What if this is a premonition? What if––oh God––”

“Kid, you have to calm down,” Tony said firmly. “I swear to you that I’m not dead. I’m in the suit and I’m on my way to you, okay?”

Peter sniffled. “Okay.”

“Has this really been going on for six nights?”

“Yeah. It started last Thursday, and it hasn’t let up. I’m so tired, I’m––I just want to sleep, and every time I do––Tony, I’m so tired. I think I flunked my physics midterm because everything kept blurring and nothing made sense.”

“I’m sure you didn’t flunk it,” Tony said. “But seriously, kid, why did you take so long to call me?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said. “I kept telling myself it was a dream, that that was all it was, and you and I were texting during the day and I knew you were okay, and I felt like I should––I don’t know. Reason my way out of it. But it doesn’t feel like a dream, and it won’t stop, and then I thought––what if it’s a warning? What if it’s _going_ to happen? Tony, please, you can’t––you can’t––”

He broke into tears again, and it just about broke Tony’s heart. He knew that it was mostly because Peter was exhausted and clearly at the end of his rope, but there was something about listening to his kid cry that seemed to obliterate all reason. He’d never known before Peter that it was possible to hurt so badly for someone else, not even Pepper, as much as he loved her. Sometimes he wished he could go back to not-knowing it. It was a vulnerability, having a piece of him walking around out in the world like that. But most of the time, he felt like the reward was worth the risk. 

Still. “Step on it, FRI,” he said, and she gave him an extra boost of power as he flew toward Boston. 

***

The roof of Peter’s dorm building had a convenient service entrance that Tony had modified with a biometric lock that responded to himself and his kid. He let himself in and hit the stairs at a run, barely giving the suit time to retract. 

He didn’t even have the chance to knock before Peter yanked the door open, pulled him inside, and threw himself into Tony’s arms. Tony wrapped him up, not protesting how tightly Peter was holding him, even though it honestly made it a little difficult to breathe. “You’re okay,” he said into Peter’s hair while he shook apart in his arms. “You’re okay. _I’m_ okay,” he amended, because that seemed to be what Peter was really afraid of. “It was a dream.”

“It wasn’t,” Peter said, muffled, into Tony’s shoulder. 

“Okay, then we’ll figure out what it was.” Tony rubbed the back of Peter’s neck. “But right now, right here, we’re both fine.”

Peter turned his head to the side and spoke. “What if this is the dream?”

Tony went still. “What?”

“What if this is the dream? What if I’m asleep and I dream that you’re okay and I wake up and you’re dead?”

“Shit, kid. That’s not––no.” Tony pulled away to look at him. “That’s the sleep deprivation talking, all right? It’s telling you all kinds of crap right now. Karen says you’ve had about fourteen hours of sleep in six days, which is definitely enough for an insanity plea, so we’re not going to trust what your brain is telling you right now.”

“But––”

“Stop,” Tony said, framing his face in his hands. “Listen to me. This is real. I am real. You are real. I believe you when you say it doesn’t feel like a dream, so we’re going to get in your car and drive back to the compound and have Bruce look at you, and then we’re going to get you some rest. Got it?”

Peter nodded, eyes red and welling with tears all over again. 

“Okay. Get what you need for a few days at the compound. Your first class on Monday isn’t until two, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So I’ll drive you back before then. Come on, kid. Books, underwear, spider gear, anything else you can’t live without. And put real clothes on, you’re wearing boxers, and it’s barely above freezing.”

Peter started throwing things into a bag haphazardly. Tony texted FRIDAY to ask her to let May know that he was taking Peter to the compound for a couple of days, and also to alert Bruce that they’d be there between seven-thirty and eight and needed to see him as soon as humanly possible. 

It wasn’t even four in the morning yet. Tony prayed there was a goddamn Starbucks with a drive-through open somewhere in Cambridge. 

“Ready,” Peter finally said, slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder. He was wearing an MIT hoodie that Tony suspected he’d stolen from him and track pants that were probably two sizes too big. It was less _superhero_ than _teenaged hobo_ , but under the circumstances, Tony was just glad he was dressed at all.

They were the first customers in the drive through at the Starbucks right off the MIT campus. Tony clutched his trenta latte with two extra shots and three pumps of sugar-free vanilla like it was a lifeline. Peter hadn’t wanted anything, but Tony got him a bottle of water, two orders of egg bites, and a blueberry muffin anyway. 

“You should try to sleep a little bit, Pete,” Tony said as they pulled onto the motorway. 

“No sleeping,” Peter mumbled. “I’m not doing it anymore. Not until we figure this out.”

“You’re exhausted.”

“Believe me, I know,” Peter snapped. Tony glanced at him. He pressed his head back against the headrest. “My head hurts so bad. It’s throbbing. I’m starving but I feel nauseous, and my vision is kind of fucked up.”

“That sounds like a migraine,” Tony said, frowning. “Drink some of the water and have a few bites of the muffin, all right? Bruce can hook you up with painkillers when we get in.”

Tony heard the paper crinkle, and then Peter said, “I can’t. If I eat, I’ll throw up.”

“Okay. Just drink some water then. Small sips, and let me know if I need to pull over.”

There were silent for little while. The sunrise was behind them, and the early morning traffic was heading the other way. It was just the two of them and a handful of reverse-commuters. 

“Tony,” Peter said in a small voice, about ten miles later.

“Pete?” Tony replied, bracing to pull over and let him puke out the passenger side door. 

“Are you sure this is real?”

“Yeah, Pete,” Tony said, reaching out to cup the back of Peter’s neck with his hand. “This is real. It’s as real as anything.”

***

Peter passed out despite himself three times on the drive. Each time he jerked awake with a gasp after only a few minutes. Twice he spilled water on himself. The third time he made Tony pull over, and then Tony had to brace him with one hand on his forehead, rubbing his back with the other as he heaved out water and bile onto the ground. 

Before they got going again, Tony dug a pair of sunglasses out of the glove compartment. They gave Peter some relief from the migraine as the sun got brighter. But by the time they pulled onto the sweeping driveway that led up to the compound, they were both well past done.

Happy was waiting for them as they pulled up in Peter’s Prius. “Take the kid’s stuff to his room, will you?” Tony asked as he climbed out. He tossed Happy the keys as he came around to help Peter. “We’re going straight to Bruce.”

“You got it. Wow, kid, I haven’t seen anyone look that shitty since Tony’s drinking days.”

“Haha, very funny,” Tony said, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “Out of our way.”

He steered Peter, who was stumbling almost as though he _were_ drunk, into the blessed shadow of the main building and then into the elevator. Peter was silent, pressing close to him and not protesting the arm that Tony had around him. He was trembling faintly and his skin felt clammy to the touch. Tony wondered if he was trying not to throw up again. 

Bruce was waiting for them, still wearing his pajamas and with a cup of tea in hand. The lights in the lab had already been lowered to a level that wouldn’t aggravate Peter, even when he was feeling sensitive. “Good morning,” he greeted them calmly, not even raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Peter, I didn’t expect to see you today. Why don’t you hop up on the exam table and tell me what’s going on?”

Seriously, Tony thought, _God bless_ Bruce Banner. Bruce gave Peter a dose of super-soldier painkiller and then went about examining him with calm efficiency using their portable scanner, all the while pulling details about the dream out of him––far more than Tony himself had managed. 

It sounded brutal. Peter teared up again talking about it, but Bruce just handed him a tissue and gave him a break to sip some water. Then he had Peter lie back so he could cover his eyes with a damp cloth. 

“Tony?” Peter mumbled, reaching a hand out toward him. 

“Right here, kid,” Tony said, taking his hand and squeezing it. He looked up at Bruce. “So what’s the diagnosis, doc?” 

Bruce set the scanner down carefully and turned to look at them. “You’re not going to like it. The scanner isn’t showing anything wrong. I can send him for other tests––MRI, EKG, whatever we want––but I don’t think it will help.”

“Why not?” Tony demanded. 

“Because I don’t think this is my area of expertise.”

Bruce was right. Tony did not like that at all. “Whose is it, then?” he asked suspiciously. 

“Loki’s, if we can get him to behave.” Tony snorted. Bruce grimaced to show his agreement, then shrugged. “Or...”

“Spit it out, Bruce.”

Bruce sighed. “Strange.”

Tony groaned. “Goddammit, you think it’s magic?”

“I don’t know what it is, but he would. He would certainly be able to tell us if it was just a dream or something else.” 

“Wait,” Peter said, reaching up to pull the cloth off his eyes. “Strange is a person?”

“Yes,” Tony said. “A very annoying person. A sorcerer,” he added, the word tasting sour in his mouth. 

“Whoa,” Peter said. “That’s so cool.”

“I assure you, it isn’t.”

“You just don’t like him because you’re so similar,” Bruce said with a smirk. 

Tony clutched at his chest. “Such betrayal, and after all we’ve been through together? _Et tu_ , Brucie?”

Peter giggled, the first not-miserable noise Tony had heard from him since he’d picked up the phone almost five hours ago. Tony looked down at him, and Peter gave him a small half-smile. Tony settled his hand on Peter’s head and carded his fingers through his hair. 

“Don’t be such a drama queen,” Bruce said sternly. “If it’s him or Loki, you know who it has to be. Want me to do it?”

“No, I’ll do it,” Tony sighed. “FRIDAY, get me Stephen Strange.”

“Yes, boss.” 

Tony kept up stroking Peter’s hair while they waited. Peter closed his eyes and nuzzled closer, until Tony had him more or less cradled in his arms. He didn’t dare look up for fear of catching the both deeply indulgent and extremely smug expression he was sure Bruce was wearing.

“Boss, Dr. Strange says you are welcome to leave a message or call back during normal business hours.”

“What the–– _call back_?” Tony repeated, outraged. “Is he fucking kidding me?”

“FRIDAY,” Bruce broke in, “tell Strange that it’s me calling, and that it’s regarding a health issue with Peter Parker.”

“One moment, Dr. Banner,” FRIDAY said.

Tony waited, scowling. He already hated everything about this. 

“Dr. Banner, how may I help you?” Strange asked. 

“What the––you’ll pick up for him but not for me?” Tony yelped, incensed. 

“Tony,” Peter said, wincing. 

“Oh jeez, sorry, Pete,” Tony said, repentant. He smoothed Peter’s hair back from his forehead and replaced the cloth over his eyes. “Seriously, Strange,” he added in a furious whisper. “You’ll pick up for Bruce but not for me?”

“That’s accurate,” Strange said, without a hint of apology. “Now, how may I help you, Dr. Banner? I’m given to understand there is a problem with our young colleague?”

Bruce shot a quelling look in Tony’s direction. “Yes,” he said. “It might be easier to explain if you came through.”

“Very well.” 

A moment later, one of Strange’s magic portals formed _in the middle of Bruce’s lab_ , which had to be some sort of code violation. Peter took the cloth off his eyes and sat up as Strange stepped through and closed the portal. 

“Wow,” Peter said, eyes wide, “that’s... I’ve seen a lot of things, but I’ve never seen that before. That’s really neat.”

“Thank you,” Dr. Strange said, looking somewhat bemused. He also looked annoyingly coiffed and well-rested. Tony definitely did not feel either of those things. He felt schlubby, unshowered, and stretched to the breaking point by seeing his kid in distress for hours and being unable to do a damn thing about it. “You must be Peter Parker. I’m Dr. Stephen Strange. What seems to be troubling you?”

“I’ve been having really awful nightmares for the past six nights,” Peter said. “I can’t sleep at all. It’s always the same, and it doesn’t––it doesn’t feel like a dream.”

Strange frowned at him. “You have precognitive abilities.”

“Yeah, but usually just a few seconds. Not like this.”

Strange nodded. “And in the dream, what happens?”

Peter swallowed. Tony squeezed his hand. “Tony dies. Every time. And I know it could be a dream,” he added, too quickly. “But it just––it feels real. It feels _really_ real. And I’m––I’m really fucking tired,” he added, voice cracking. 

“I’m sure you are,” Strange said, sounding much kinder than usual. Tony raised an eyebrow at him. Maybe there was a human inside that cloak after all. “Sit back and relax. I’m going to place my hands on your forehead. Stark, go stand over there.”

“Where?” Tony asked, since Strange hadn’t actually pointed. 

“Anywhere but here. You’re in my way.”

Tony rolled his eyes but stepped back reluctantly, crossing his arms over his chest. Strange pressed his thumbs at the center of Peter’s forehead, with his fingers on the crown of his head, and closed his eyes. “I know it’s painful, Peter,” he said, in a much gentler voice that Tony would have ever thought him capable of, “but I need you to think about the dream.”

“Okay,” Peter said, and took a sharp breath. 

Nothing happened. The two of them stood frozen, barely breathing. Tony looked at Bruce, who shook his head, appearing just as bewildered. Tony had a half-formed and irrational desire to pull Strange off his kid, but he _knew_ it was half-formed and irrational, so he didn’t. Instead he dug his fingernails into his palm and kept one eye on the clock in the corner of one of Bruce’s monitors. Not that he knew how long was long enough to wait for something like this. 

He _hated_ magic. 

Four minutes went by before Peter inhaled sharply with a gasp. Tony found himself inhaling with him, moving to put his hands on Peter’s shoulders. 

Peter’s eyes opened wide. “What did you do?” he asked, staring up at Strange. “You just did something, what did you do?”

“Strange, are you fucking around in my kid’s––”

Strange held a hand up, silencing Tony. “How do you feel, Peter?”

“Okay, I guess.” Peter yawned suddenly, so hard his jaw popped. “Really tired. But otherwise okay?”

“It’s safe for you to sleep now, and you should.” Strange glanced at Tony. “Stark, see to it that he sleeps as much as he wants for the next few days.”

Tony frowned. “Yeah, okay. And also, what the hell did you do to his _brain_?”

“Tony,” Bruce murmured. 

“Don’t _Tony_ me. It’s a fair question!”

“It is,” Strange agreed, surprising them all into silence. “I’m afraid I must speak in metaphors. As I’m sure you’re aware by now, there are many different universes out there––some similar to ours, and some very different. Occasionally, connections form across universes; it is unclear why even to me. Peter had formed a connection with a different Peter, in a different universe.”

“Where Tony died,” Peter said softly. 

“Yes,” Strange said. 

“So that... that happened?” Peter asked shakily. He reached his hand out, and Tony took it, standing close to him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He pressed his face into Peter’s hair. 

“Somewhere, yes, it did,” Strange said. “But not here––and it won’t. We are past the danger point in our timeline.”

“And you don’t know why a connection like that would form?” Bruce asked. “It’s just random?”

“Not random,” Strange said. “I’ve never been able to conduct a study of such experiences, as they are surpassingly rare, but my hypothesis is that there must be two variables. The first is that the experience is deeply emotional, often traumatizing. The second, is that it is cosmically significant, strong enough to create––again, metaphors––ripple effects, or echoes, if you will, across universes.”

“I see,” Bruce said. “I suppose that makes some kind of sense.”

Tony didn’t see how it made any sense at all, but Peter was shaking again, and he was concentrating on holding him together. “But you broke the connection,” Tony said, holding Peter’s head to his chest. “It won’t happen again?”

“It shouldn’t,” Strange replied. “You may dream about the connection, Peter, but they will be normal dreams that fade upon waking.”

Peter nodded, shakily. “I can handle that.” 

“Yes, you can,” Strange said with a nod. “Now, as I said, you should sleep as much as you want for the next few days. You’ve strained yourself with this. The migraine you’re experiencing is a symptom of the strain, and it should resolve with rest. If it does not, let me know.”

“We will,” Bruce said. “Thank you, Stephen.”

“My pleasure, Dr. Banner. Rest well, Peter,” he added. His eyes flicked over to Tony. “Stark,” he acknowledged.

“Strange,” Tony said. Bruce gave him a significant look over Strange’s shoulder, and he gritted his teeth. “Thank you.”

Strange smirked. “You are, of course, most welcome.” With a flourish of his cloak, he re-opened the portal and was gone. 

There was a moment of silence. Then Tony said, “Well, that was fun. Let’s not do that again.”

“At least it was pretty easy to take care of,” Bruce said.

“I guess.” Tony looked down at Peter, who was growing heavier and heavier in his arms. “C’mon, kid. Let’s get you up to bed before you pass out.”

“Yeah,” Peter said groggily. “I’m... I’m really tired.”

“I know you are, Pete, let’s go.” Tony dragged him off the exam table and managed to get him on his feet. 

“Make sure he stays hydrated,” Bruce said, as Tony started to steer him out of the lab. “And push food on him whenever he’s awake. You know how hot his metabolism runs.”

“Will do. Thanks, Bruce!” Tony called over his shoulder. 

Peter was basically dead weight by the time Tony got them up to their apartment. He half-dragged, half-carried Peter into his room and dropped him onto the bed with as much grace as possible. Tony decided he could sleep in the sweats, but he took his shoes off. Then he wrestled Peter under the covers and dragged them over him. Peter mumbled something that, with a lot of imagination, might’ve been _Thanks, Tony_. 

He looked so young like this, Tony thought, looking down at him. So painfully young, and so vulnerable. The world had hurt him so many times, and yet he kept coming back for more. And somewhere out there was a world that had hurt him even worse than this one. One where Tony had had no choice but to leave him on his own. 

A rush of protectiveness came over him, filling him up until it felt like there was no space for anything else. It was so surprising, and so profound, that it brought tears to his eyes. 

Before Tony could stop himself, he leaned down and kiss Peter’s forehead. “Sweet dreams,” he whispered, and closed the door quietly behind him as he left. 

***

Peter slept for over eighteen hours. 

Tony slept for part of that, too, exhausted by the sleepless night and more disturbed than he wanted to admit by the idea of a universe where he had died. His dreams were unsettled, even if they weren’t quite nightmares, and he found himself wide awake after less than three hours. He was tempted to sit in the chair in Peter’s room and just stare at his poor kid while he slept, but instead he forced himself to go downstairs and run on the treadmill until he couldn't run anymore. It sort of worked; he staggered upstairs and dozed on the sofa for a couple more hours, until Pepper called. 

“That sounds like a day,” Pepper said, with all the equanimity Tony adored her for, when he finished telling her everything. “Is Peter all right?”

“Still sleeping. Bruce said that if he hits the twenty-four hour mark we’ll give him an IV, but for now, we should just let him be, like Strange said.”

Pepper hummed. “And how are you doing?”

“I’m... okay.” Tony swallowed. “It’s a lot to take in. And you should’ve heard Peter when he called me this morning, Pep. I’ve never heard him like that. And I know that some of it was just that he was exhausted, but some of it wasn’t. I don’t know––what do I _do_ with that?”

“I think you realize that are many people who love you,” Pepper replied, in a careful voice. “There are many of us who would miss you terribly if you were gone. Peter isn’t the only one. I hope you know that.”

Tony didn’t know what to say. “Yeah,” he finally managed, staring up at the ceiling. 

Pepper was quiet for a few moments. Then she said, “I think maybe we should revisit that conversation we tabled a few months ago.”

“The conversation––oh,” Tony said, sitting up in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes. I’ll call and make an appointment with my doctor tomorrow, just so we can see where we stand before we make any decisions. Is that okay with you?”

“That’s––that’s _really_ okay with me,” Tony said. “That’s so okay with me, you have no idea. On a scale of one to a thousand okay’s, it’s––”

“I get the idea,” Pepper said, laughing. “I’ll let you know when the appointment is. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Tony said, and disconnected. He stared into the middle distance, blinking. A baby that was his and Pepper’s. _A little sister for Peter_ , he thought, trying it out in his head. He wasn’t quite sure what had made her decide to put the conversation back on the table, but he wasn’t sorry about it. 

His phone pinged. _Go to bed!_ Pepper had texted him. 

Tony went to bed. He fell asleep surprisingly easily.

He was woken a little after two in the morning by FRIDAY. "Boss," she said quietly, "Peter seems to be entering a lighter stage of sleep in preparation for waking."

“Thanks, FRI.” Tony said, rolling out of bed and staggering into the kitchen. He was half-asleep himself, but fortunately, he had prepared for this. He threw the ingredients he’d prepped earlier for a high-calorie, nutrient-dense smoothie that he could get into the kid quickly––almond butter, frozen bananas, blueberries, spinach, almond milk––into the blender together. He poured the smoothie into an insulated cup with a straw and grabbed a giant bottle of water to go with it. 

Peter’s bedroom was pitch dark. “FRIDAY, lights at thirty-five percent,” Tony whispered, and they came up a little. Peter stirred sluggishly. Tony sat down on the vacant half of the bed and set the bottle of water and the smoothie on the nightstand. He put his hand on Peter’s back and rubbed it lightly up and down. 

Peter sighed sleepily. “Tony?” he mumbled.

“It’s me, kid. You doing all right?”

“Mmm."

Tony smiled to himself and kept rubbing Peter’s back. “You want some water?” he asked after a minute or two. 

“Mmm, yeah.” Peter turned over and looked up at Tony. “How long was I out?”

Tony glanced at his watch. “Almost nineteen hours at this point.”

“That explains why I really have to pee.”

Tony chuckled. “Yeah. You want to go do that first?”

“I guess.” Peter gave a put-upon sigh and slid out of bed. Tony watched him carefully as he went into the bathroom, but he was steady on his feet.

He returned a couple minutes later looking as though he’d washed his face and smelling as though he’d also brushed his teeth. He crawled back into bed and curled up unabashedly into Tony’s side. Tony wrapped an arm around him, and Peter tucked his head against his chest. 

“How’s your head?” Tony asked.

“Way better.”

“And your dreams?” 

Peter was quiet for a few seconds. “Nothing I remember. Nothing that woke me up.”

“Good. You should have some water,” Tony reached for the bottle, “and then you should try to drink some of this smoothie I made you with my own two hands.”

“Ugh, are you sure you didn’t put motor oil in it?”

Tony flicked Peter’s ear. “Don’t sass me.”

“Only old people say ‘don’t sass me’.”

“That’s not true, because I say it, and I’m not old––ergo.” Tony pushed the water bottle into Peter’s hands. He immediately drained half of it. “I bet that tastes good.”

“Best thing ever,” Peter said, a little breathless. He took another huge gulp. “Nineteen hours?”

“Yep.” Tony handed him the smoothie. “You should sleep more if you want to. You heard Strange.”

Peter hummed his agreement around the silicone straw in his mouth. Tony watched him briefly, then reached out and tugged the smoothie down and away. “Slowly,” he said. “You don’t want to make yourself sick.” 

“I know,” Peter said. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “It’s just really good.” 

“See? O ye of little faith,” Tony intoned. “You want anything else? It's the middle of the night and we're not exactly in Manhattan, so ordering in is probably out. But I could make you eggs."

“In a little bit, maybe,” Peter said. “This is good for now.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, “this is good.”

They fell silent for a long time. Peter alternated between sipping at his smoothie and his water bottle. Tony concentrated on holding him as tight as he could, sweeping his thumb in a soothing arc across the top of his arm. “You okay, kid?” he finally asked, when Peter had just about managed to finish everything off. “You’re awfully quiet.”

Peter sighed. He reached across Tony and put the empty smoothie cup on the nightstand, and then he sank into Tony’s side, holding the nearly empty water bottle against his chest. “I’m mostly okay, I guess. I just...”

“What?” Tony prompted, looking down to try and see his face. 

“I keep thinking about him,” Peter confessed. “The other me. The one who lost you.” He swallowed. “Maybe it’s terrible that I’m mostly thinking about him. I mean, I’m thinking about the other you, too, but I––I’m trying not to think about that you too much. But I just can’t stop thinking about him.”

“I’ve been thinking about him, too,” Tony said. “It’s hard not to. There’s no version of you I don’t...” He hesitated, because part of him always hesitated. But Peter knew him well enough to wait him out. “There’s no version of you I don’t love,” Tony finally finished. “But we can’t do anything for him. And you heard Strange––it won’t happen here. We’re past the danger point.”

“I know,” Peter replied. “But I just––I feel bad. I feel sorry for him, because it was awful, but also––but also I’m really glad it wasn’t me. I’m really glad I wasn’t that Peter.”

“Me too,” Tony whispered. 

Peter ducked his head and pressed his forehead against Tony’s chest. Tony splayed one hand across Peter’s back and used the other one to cradle the back of his head. “I just hope... I hope he’s okay,” Peter said, voice a little muffled and a lot strained.

Tony smoothed down the hair at the nape of Peter’s neck. Peter looked up at him, brown eyes wide and dark. Tony met them, steady and straight-on. 

“He will be,” Tony said softly. “If he’s anywhere near as strong as you are, he will be.”

Peter bit his lip. “Stay with me?”

“Yeah, kid,” Tony said. He pulled Peter closer, so that he was holding him, head tucked beneath his chin like he was still fifteen, still shorter than him. “Always.”

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> The multiverse means that every timeline is just one among many. I choose to live in the nice ones.


End file.
